Every time that I think this one’s life is over, she shows me, almost defiantly, that it is not. Her leaves have been strangely compressed and perpetually curled up with no flowers to be seen for months now, and nothing I did seemed to help. Moved her around to a different spot in the balcony, loosened the soil as bougainvillea like, added fertiliser, reduced watering greatly — still nada.
I know bougainvillea much prefer bright, hot sunlight and don’t care much for the rain, and this is a problem in my home. I get adequate sunlight throughout the day, but it’s not direct and it’s not the fresh morning sun that flowering plants love. Also it’s been consistently rainy here in Bangalore for the last few weeks now. So that could be one reason she is seemingly not doing too well. However, this deduction wasn’t accurate because my other bougainvillea is doing fine. Great, even. With bushy, light and feathery, graceful fronds of white blossoms billowing in the monsoony winds, right next to this one.
Anyhow, last week I said out loud that maybe it’s time to just let this one go. Put her to rest, and use this large pot for something else. Almost immediately, within the next few days, she burst into this profusion of the salmon-est-salmony blooms, reminding me of the reason why I picked this plant from the nursery, in the first place. This exact shade of orange-salmon-blushing is what I imagine “the pink of life” is.
I’m growing to see more than meets the eye with my plants, and I’m revelling in how they respond to how much energy I direct towards them. And this whole episode spoke to me at so many levels.